


Follow Me Home

by egocentrifuge



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Consensual Nonconsent, M/M, WARNING WARNING, rapeplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-13 10:05:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5703643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/egocentrifuge/pseuds/egocentrifuge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam’s phone buzzes with a text as he nears his apartment and he fishes it out, stares at the screen.</p><p><i>Green?</i> it says simply. Matt’s number.</p><p>He has to stop walking to respond, has to try a few times before he manages the word with no typos, but the answer is an emphatic <i>Green!</i> that Adam can’t help but follow with a smiley face. He’s trembling, or shaking–-Adam can’t tell, just that it takes him just as many tries to get his keys in the lock as it had to text Matt. </p><p>There’s the quiet buzz of an incoming message and Adam pauses with his foot in the door to pull his phone out again. The screen is blank--no new messages.</p><p>He has the span of three heartbeats to realize what this means before he’s being shoved into his apartment and the door slams behind him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Follow Me Home

**Author's Note:**

> Consensual nonconsent! Rapeplay! Please be careful!

Adam honestly isn’t sure that Matt is going to go through with it. Because, okay, he knows Matt loves him and would do most anything, but the man–he’s a sweetheart. Adam still remembers his expression when he’d brought it up tentatively, had asked almost shyly if Matt would ever consider… well, _forcing_ him. Forcing himself on Adam. They’d talked it out, obviously, but even after Adam had promised that this was something he wanted, even after he’d shown Matt how worked up just talking about it got him, there’d been something distant in Matt’s eyes.

Adam should have known that there wasn't anything Matt wouldn't do for him.

The scene is thus: Matt meets Adam at a bar. Matt buys Adam a drink. Matt follows Adam home when his interest isn’t reciprocated. Matt–Matt pushes his way in after Adam. Matt doesn’t take no for an answer. 

The reality is such: Adam is tired and didn’t eat dinner and the first drink goes straight to his fucking head. When the hand lands low on his back he’s all but forgotten about-–about his reason for being out and not at home, for the low burn of arousal pulling guiltily at him as soon as the warm breath hits his ear.

“You’re fucking hot,” the man says, and Adam knows it’s Matt, but he–that’s not his cadence, that’s not even the way he smells. He can’t help the shiver that wracks through him before he’s remembering himself, swallowing down the instinct to lean back into the touch.

“Thanks,” he says sheepishly, “but I’m, ah, I have a boyfriend.”

That’s when Adam shrugs off the touch and turns to look at Matt and–holy shit, he, he’s really fucking going for this, isn’t he? He’s in a leather jacket Adam has never seen, a white v-neck, and–and, fuck, is that eyeliner? Adam can’t tell because all the blood in his body is rushing to his cheeks and his cock and his thighs and Adam already feels, feels dirty, feels ready to let a stranger ravage him in the bar bathroom.

And that’s _before_ Matt rests his elbow on the bar, leans in close, sends a thrill of fear and excitement down Adam’s spine at the casualness with which he invades Adam’s space.

“He can watch,” Matt suggests, eyes dipping to Adam’s lips, his throat, the gaze feeling like a solid pressure. “It’ll teach him not to let you out alone.”

Adam’s mouth goes dry. He’s off of his stool before he realizes what he’s doing.

“I,” he manages. “I, I have to go. I have to, ah–”

He avoids looking at Matt’s eyes as he all but flees from the bar and starts making his way home with long strides and his keys clutched in his hand like a weapon.

Holy shit. _Holy shit._ His blood feels like it’s on fire and he hasn’t even–they haven’t even–

Adam’s phone buzzes with a text as he nears his apartment and he fishes it out, stares at the screen.

 _Green?_ it says simply. Matt’s number.

He has to stop walking to respond, has to try a few times before he manages the word with no typos, but the answer is an emphatic _Green!_ that Adam can’t help but follow with a smiley face. He’s trembling, or shaking–Adam can’t tell, just that it takes him just as many tries to get his keys in the lock as it had to text Matt. 

There’s the quiet buzz of an incoming message and Adam pauses with his foot in the door to pull his phone out again. The screen is blank.

He has the span of three heartbeats to realize what this means before he’s being shoved into his apartment and the door slams behind him.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” Matt–- _no,_ the stranger asks, because this isn’t Matt, this isn’t someone Adam knows. He can feel the scream press up against his throat as his legs are kicked out from under him, but the shock of his knees hitting the floor turns it into a strangled gasp and then there’s–then there’s a hand over his mouth, an arm around his neck.

“This is how this is going to happen,” Adam is told, and his whimper is muffled by the hand over his mouth. “You’re going to be quiet.”

There’s no _or else,_ no threat, but the way the leather creaks when the arm tightens around Adam’s neck is promise enough. He doesn’t have the room to nod but he does–he does have his hands free, and ramming his elbow back happens before Adam can thinking better of it.

His arm tingles with the impact and for a moment Adam is blessedly free, but he’s barely drawn a full breath when he’s being seized and slammed into the carpet. The air escapes Adam in a rush and it’s a good thing, too, because otherwise he’d shout and get himself into more trouble as his arms are twisted painfully behind his back. A heavy weight settles between Adam’s legs, forcing his thighs apart.

Fuck, he’s still fully clothed and yet he feels–he feels so exposed, so–

“You’re going to behave,” comes quietly, and this time–this time Adam nods where his cheek is pressed into the carpet.

Adam’s never felt so utterly helpless as he does when one of the hands pinning him disappears and he still can’t break the hold, still can’t do anything but strain back and force his legs open further without meaning to.

“That’s it,” the voice murmurs. Adam flushes deeply and feels tears prick at his eyes in shame, in anticipation. “Don’t move.”

At first he can’t identify what’s happening, why his belt is digging into his belly, and then the pressure is abruptly gone with a sound like–like snapping leather, like a belt that’s been sawed through with a knife, a knife that’s–oh god, the same knife that’s tearing through the back of Adam’s jeans and boxers alike with a terrible rending sound that has him trembling harder than before.

“Fuck,” he breathes without meaning to.

“Yes,” is the even response, and then there’s cold metal against Adam’s ass and a spit-slick finger inside of him with no preamble.

The next _fuck_ is torn from Adam, as is the one after that, and after that, as he’s fingered open roughly. It burns with the lack of proper lube, with the brutal speed, but then the fingers find his prostate and start stroking and Adam can barely feel anything beyond the deep, aching pleasure that’s being torn from him.

He think he drifts because it feels like an eternity has passed before he realizes his arms have been released, that he’s pushing back on his elbows, that the hand that had been holding him in place is milking his cock deftly. It’s only then that Adam realizes the noises he’s making, the shaky pleas, the tears dripping down his face and the way he’s trembling so hard his teeth are chattering and–

The orgasm hits him hard enough that Adam is nearly sick before his arms give out and he ends up with his face in the carpet. Again.

“Adam?” Matt says, and it is Matt, voice sweet and unsure and just as raw as Adam feels. “Hey, are you with me?”

“Yeah,” Adam manages. “Yeah, I’m–holy shit.”

“Yeah,” Matt agrees. “Holy shit.”

It’s absurd that he can sound that dry while still sounding that wrecked and Adam can’t help the sudden laugh that bubbles up through him.

“Holy shit,” he repeats between giggles. “Holy shit, Matt.”

“Holy shit,” Matt says again, even more blandly, and that’s it, Adam’s lost to laughter.

**Author's Note:**

> find me at egocentrifuge.tumblr.com


End file.
